What Will You Do When The Old Dog Dies? Ericksonian Approaches to Grief and Mourning 1 By Eric Greenleaf, PhD Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color. – W.S. Merwin I agreed to write this chapter on Ericksonian approaches to “life, death and other matters,” in mid-January, and that same week was told of the death of my beloved and irreplaceable friend, Betty Alice Erickson, after a years-long struggle with a harsh cancer. Decades ago, near the end of Milton H. Erickson’s life, I was shown a video in which Dr. Erickson is talking to Betty Alice (“BA”), his grown daughter. “What will you do when the old dog dies?” he says, preparing her unconscious for her father’s death. In our many years of teaching together, BA would often initiate trance experiences by reminding participants of the “smell of puppy breath,” and other unmistakable memories of childhood and newness in life. To invite experiences of life’s fragile complexity, she would say, “When you get a dog, prepare to grieve,” knowing that we hope our dogs live a long time, and that we hope to live longer still. Our standard poodle, Lola, was a favorite of BA. Dr. Erickson would write letters to children about animals, real and invented, to help them, through stories, to learn, grow and resolve troubles in life. He’d have loved Lola, as most people do – she is warm, smart, protective, affectionate and fun. The “Great Matter” of life and death, as Buddhists note, can be pointed toward, but never explained; acted on, but never consciously understood. Dr. Erickson knew that truth, and cultivated communication with the unconscious mind in order to find a path forward in life which could, when he looked back, provide “a path of happiness,” behind him. On the matter of approaching the most difficult of human problems with his patients, Dr. Erickson said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you but it obviously needs care. Now let’s see what we can do about it.: And you see yourself in the hands of 1 Greenleaf, E., chapter 10 in Life, Death and Other Resources, ed. Semeraro, R. Magenes Editoriale sri, (In Italian) 2019 (to appear). 1 somebody who will make a penetrating research into an insoluble problem.” [Seminars of MHE #1 1962, pp. 47-8.] BA’s death left me with empty sorrow and bright memories, and the image of barren, exhausted earth with green shoots coming through it. The sere, brown field with bright green shoots. The affect bridges of my own unconscious mind brought me to emotions of other deaths, particularly the sudden, accidental death of my best friend Donald some 47 years ago, and of family members in recent years. My unconscious brought forth, as in a waking dream, an experience at a Family Constellations workshop, where I was asked to represent a child who had died in infancy. I was placed at the end of a line of living children, facing a wall. Although I don’t remember being lonely as a child, I was struck from the inside by an immense and bleak loneliness, as I represented that infant. Experiences like this, and many others, lead Freud to call the unconscious, “The other place,” and Jung to refer to it as “A visionary rumor.” In a conceptual sense, I think of the unconscious as composed of three processes: the whole neurophysiology of the body; new learning; and, the interpersonal emotions of three or more interrelated people taken together. In trance, we relate to our unconscious mind, and so invite betterment of our bodies and our relational emotions in a context of novelty and new learning. The small, extended family group is our evolutionary heirloom from earliest times, and the emotional atmosphere within that small group often determines our unique sense of self. That atmosphere itself, which includes generations past, stories known and stories never spoken, and secrets, remains largely unconscious. The selves that that interpersonal atmosphere gives rise to remain unself-conscious, and feel, though cloudy, individual, decisive and self- determined. Like the early physicians, I often find it best to try methods on myself; not just to offer them to my patients. Dr. Erickson would do the same: Before applying electroshock therapy to a hospitalized patient, Erickson placed the paddles on his own body in the patient's presence, and fell back onto a mattress he'd placed on the floor. He challenged a young girl to a bicycle race, knowing that he, with post-polio weakness, could exert himself fully and still be fairly beaten by the girl. And, relating to a patient with low self-esteem, who was a carver of ironwood pieces, Erickson, who had an extensive ironwood collection, borrowed one of the man's works, stayed up all night 2 to copy it, and arrived at the therapy session with bloody fingers and a demonstration of the high value he placed on the patient’s work. My own example of this practice is called, "Dogs Will Eat Anything" [Milton H. Erickson Foundation Newsletter, 35, #2, 2015.]: Some months ago I found myself in the midst of a terrible conflict of loyalties. Two people with whom I had close professional and personal ties, and with whom I shared a common project, fell into a serious dispute, one accusing the other of a crime. Worse, each represented powerful institutions with which I had important and consequential connections. I attempted to mediate, offering a plausible solution to both sides, and was refused by both sides. I felt, with great discomfort, that the more I tried, the more the two parties began to turn their suspicions and mistrust towards me. I backed away, feeling more and more uneasy, nervous and despondent. The parties consulted lawyers. Positions hardened, empathy dissolved. For several nights I slept little, thinking and thinking about what to do. Each idea I settled on would be unwelcome to one party or the other. Each strategy I imagined led to the same dead end, with damage all around. I felt awful. The next morning I woke early, and my wife, upon opening her eyes, turned to me and said, “I feel a sense of dread.” I knew that the emotion was mine, not hers, and realized at once that I did not want her to feel that way, and that I must do something about it. But what? I decided to give the problem to my unconscious mind – whatever that is – and went to bed that evening. The next morning I woke up, and I was happy. Nothing had changed. I felt happy, and the feeling lasted. Later that day, I thought to myself, out of nowhere, “Dogs will eat anything. They will eat feces, vomit, dead things, anything, and burp and trot away without ill effect.” Then I thought, “Lola ate the whole mess. It didn’t affect her, and I was free of the troubled state I’d carried.” Nothing had changed. 3 Dr. Erickson provided us with many examples from his own life in which he entered the unconscious in order to invite resolution of insoluble dilemmas. His availability to dream image and trance image informed the odd and effective relationships he formed with patients. Here is an example from his work with a young mother, who had lost her infant to crib death, and was inconsolable. [“Treating Loss and Grief,” an excerpt from Jane Parson-Fein’s subtitled video series, In the Room with Milton Erickson, vol. 2, Oct. 5-10, 1979.] The newlywed had severe arthritis but wanted a child. An obstetrician said she could carry a baby, but there were serious risks to both baby and mother. The woman became severely depressed, and suicidal. Dr. Erickson “listened to her mournful story,” and encouraged her to get pregnant. She delivered a healthy baby girl, “Cynthia,” who, tragically, died at six months. It was crib death, and there was no medical explanation. The woman responded with more depression and suicidal urges. Erickson told her, “Now listen woman. I think you’re being very stupid. (I wanted her attention. She had been very happy carrying the child for 9 months, giving birth, then enjoying her lovely baby for 6 months). And now you tell me you want to wipe out 15 months of happiness? I think that's a stupid thing to do. You should treasure that 15 months of happiness." Dr. Erickson told the woman to plant a fast-growing Eucalyptus sapling and name it "Cynthia". A year later, her arthritis had improved and she had grown, and generously shared, a large flower garden. "I went home with an armful of sweet peas," said Erickson, "So, why do any more therapy with her. She had a purpose in life, and 15 months of wonderful memories." Dr. Erickson's complete attention to the individual emotions, relationships and resources of each patient is evident here. The question, "What to do when nothing can be done?" hovers over experiences of loss, mourning, and the continuation of life by the living. There is a sense, difficult to codify, that Ericksonian approaches often involve the unspoken assumptions of the social world and of complex 4 interrelationships, rather than those of exclusively intrapsychic psychology. The concentration on emotions of sorrow is accompanied by the human instinct to find something to do - emotions are plans for action. But the emotions of loss may be plans for depression or suicide. So, Erickson invokes the unconscious knowledge that planting a tree promotes emotions of hope, care and engagement in life.